Warning ::
This post willprobablyDEFINITELY containsometruckloads of angst so do not proceed unless you don't mind feeling depressed or disgusted at my depressed state.
This is the longest I've been away from school at a go. I think I'm starting to miss Woman. I also sorta miss all the laughing. Even if I find something amusing I hack up blood when I laugh. It's true! I actually coughed up blood last night. Gnarly. I am desperately hoping the doctor's right and it's just because my throat is stressed out from all the coughing, not because of some disease.
Anyway, tuition today. For sure. I'm sick of the same walls every day. The same colours, the same designs. If it were at least a different set of walls, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Even if the colour was the same, at least they're still different.
To add misery to my already long list of internal flesh wounds, the possibility of me having H1N1 has not been banished by the rentals. Neither has the doctor said anything about me not having it. Unless a 'maybe' counts.
This is where the real angst comes in. Turn back naowz!
I've often been told that I have a good command of the English language. Not to brag or anything, and I don't really care if you think I am. I just need to write this down somewhere so that next time (if this doesn't get deleted) I'll be able to remember when I actually managed to find the words to express myself.
Anyway, despite having good vocab, I still have a fear of using words I don't use often. They just don't sound right on my tongue. Maybe it's just the fact that I'm at an age where people don't really care about their literacy in English. Maybe I care too much. This has probably affected my vocab despite whatever I may do to keep it up. Nowadays, words don't mean anything to me. I talk to myself and I can find exactly the right words to use. But my mouth doesn't seem to understand that language.
Expressing myself is such a burden that I don't even bother to do it. Who would want to lend a ear when you can't even feed it anything that could be comprehended? When I think of something that I want to say out loud, there's no doubt that I will understand that topic. Words aren't necessary. But then, when they're on the tip of my tongue, just waiting to be voiced; to be put into words, they lose their meaning.
I forget.
I just completely forget what was it I was supposed to say. Because whatever I was going to say could never be put into words. Therefore they can't be real, can they? Thoughts. Just how real are they? You can hardly ever put words alongside the things that go on in your head. Unless, maybe, you've read it somewhere. Or you heard about it somewhere.
But then, they're not really your own words, are they? They're someone else's words. They might not even belong to the person using them. That person might just be repeating what he or she heard somewhere else. So in the end, who actually comes up with the words?
We know the meaning. Every word, every alphabet can be described.
With other words.
But truth be told, if you're honest with yourself, just how often can you put your thoughts into words found in the dictionary? However thick the dictionary is, can you ever find the right words?
If you can, I totally envy you.
Right now, I'm forced to think. What words actually reflect what's in my mind? What I'm writing down is not a complete story of what's going on. I don't think I'll ever be able to do that. To express what is circulating my mind. I can repeat words, over and over again. But somehow, in my most depressed moments, they tend to fade off. My brain stops thinking. It's run out of words to explain me to itself. So the words are just empty shells. shapes, bents in a straight line, whatever you want to call it. Even now, I don't know what I'm saying. The words are just as I described them.
They tell us so much, and yet they're so empty. Stare at a letter, a sentence, whatever it is you want for some time and tell me honestly, that the words seem to talk to you. Or if they're just there, blank smudges of ink.
Ever since I could talk, I was never able to put my feelings into words. When I was happy, I laughed. When I was pissed off, I frowned. When I was scared, I cried. I never spoke. My fears, however petty they are, are very very real to me. We all have things we're afraid of, no? It's a secret we all keep, a taboo. Because no one wants someone else knowing their weakness. But we don't say it. We don't say anything.
Maybe this all stems from my irrationalities. Things that I'm afraid of but are really not that big a deal. One day, when I sit down and think about it, I'm going to laugh at myself. Because then, I'll realize just how stupid all of this is.
But for now, I'll be honest. I'm scared. Terrified, in fact. The weirdest part of it is that I don't know what it is I'm scared of. It's like everything that I've ever been afraid of, from the time I was unable to walk to now has accumulated in me. The fears that I've swept under the carpet has been massing together, growing while I just continued to ignore it, afraid that if I looked, I'll see something I know I should have faced.
Don't tell me I should forget about this. Don't tell me I'm too young. Fifteen years is nothing compared to Forty-something. But it's still something. It's 180 months, 5475 days, 131,400 hours and the list goes on. If you think figures have nothing to do with it, fine. I may be a child according to several laws and religions and yet people say I should be old enough to think for myself. I do think for myself.
BUT
When I actually find the words that fit the basic idea of those thoughts, I am told to forget it. Hah, and you wonder why teenagers are such troublesome people. We're not always to blame. Protect us if you want, but don't smother us. The human brain is not necessarily still developing as a person grows older, instead, it just sees more and is able to classify it.
We are rash, impatient, unrefined, annoying, and my personal favourite, immature. Excuse my rudeness, but weren't you? Since you supposedly understand how we feel, why keep trying to stop us from voicing it? Isn't it a lot less stress to let it out than to keep it inside because the so called mature people are being immature by refusing to listen to us? Don't even try to blame us for not talking to you once we've hit this age.
This silence, the conviction that no one else wants to listen to you, THIS is maturity. It's twisted, insane, and probably not what's written in the dictionary, but it's the truth. Because we're brought up to believe that. Saying nothing to us, that's why words are a waste. We speak, but how much of it is true, even I don't know.
Geez, this is long-winded. If you've actually read all of this, you're a butthead. Do you really want my misery rubbing off on you?! I think I'll end it here. The rain sounds nice.
Anyway, despite having good vocab, I still have a fear of using words I don't use often. They just don't sound right on my tongue. Maybe it's just the fact that I'm at an age where people don't really care about their literacy in English. Maybe I care too much. This has probably affected my vocab despite whatever I may do to keep it up. Nowadays, words don't mean anything to me. I talk to myself and I can find exactly the right words to use. But my mouth doesn't seem to understand that language.
Expressing myself is such a burden that I don't even bother to do it. Who would want to lend a ear when you can't even feed it anything that could be comprehended? When I think of something that I want to say out loud, there's no doubt that I will understand that topic. Words aren't necessary. But then, when they're on the tip of my tongue, just waiting to be voiced; to be put into words, they lose their meaning.
I forget.
I just completely forget what was it I was supposed to say. Because whatever I was going to say could never be put into words. Therefore they can't be real, can they? Thoughts. Just how real are they? You can hardly ever put words alongside the things that go on in your head. Unless, maybe, you've read it somewhere. Or you heard about it somewhere.
But then, they're not really your own words, are they? They're someone else's words. They might not even belong to the person using them. That person might just be repeating what he or she heard somewhere else. So in the end, who actually comes up with the words?
We know the meaning. Every word, every alphabet can be described.
With other words.
But truth be told, if you're honest with yourself, just how often can you put your thoughts into words found in the dictionary? However thick the dictionary is, can you ever find the right words?
If you can, I totally envy you.
Right now, I'm forced to think. What words actually reflect what's in my mind? What I'm writing down is not a complete story of what's going on. I don't think I'll ever be able to do that. To express what is circulating my mind. I can repeat words, over and over again. But somehow, in my most depressed moments, they tend to fade off. My brain stops thinking. It's run out of words to explain me to itself. So the words are just empty shells. shapes, bents in a straight line, whatever you want to call it. Even now, I don't know what I'm saying. The words are just as I described them.
They tell us so much, and yet they're so empty. Stare at a letter, a sentence, whatever it is you want for some time and tell me honestly, that the words seem to talk to you. Or if they're just there, blank smudges of ink.
Ever since I could talk, I was never able to put my feelings into words. When I was happy, I laughed. When I was pissed off, I frowned. When I was scared, I cried. I never spoke. My fears, however petty they are, are very very real to me. We all have things we're afraid of, no? It's a secret we all keep, a taboo. Because no one wants someone else knowing their weakness. But we don't say it. We don't say anything.
Maybe this all stems from my irrationalities. Things that I'm afraid of but are really not that big a deal. One day, when I sit down and think about it, I'm going to laugh at myself. Because then, I'll realize just how stupid all of this is.
But for now, I'll be honest. I'm scared. Terrified, in fact. The weirdest part of it is that I don't know what it is I'm scared of. It's like everything that I've ever been afraid of, from the time I was unable to walk to now has accumulated in me. The fears that I've swept under the carpet has been massing together, growing while I just continued to ignore it, afraid that if I looked, I'll see something I know I should have faced.
Don't tell me I should forget about this. Don't tell me I'm too young. Fifteen years is nothing compared to Forty-something. But it's still something. It's 180 months, 5475 days, 131,400 hours and the list goes on. If you think figures have nothing to do with it, fine. I may be a child according to several laws and religions and yet people say I should be old enough to think for myself. I do think for myself.
BUT
When I actually find the words that fit the basic idea of those thoughts, I am told to forget it. Hah, and you wonder why teenagers are such troublesome people. We're not always to blame. Protect us if you want, but don't smother us. The human brain is not necessarily still developing as a person grows older, instead, it just sees more and is able to classify it.
We are rash, impatient, unrefined, annoying, and my personal favourite, immature. Excuse my rudeness, but weren't you? Since you supposedly understand how we feel, why keep trying to stop us from voicing it? Isn't it a lot less stress to let it out than to keep it inside because the so called mature people are being immature by refusing to listen to us? Don't even try to blame us for not talking to you once we've hit this age.
This silence, the conviction that no one else wants to listen to you, THIS is maturity. It's twisted, insane, and probably not what's written in the dictionary, but it's the truth. Because we're brought up to believe that. Saying nothing to us, that's why words are a waste. We speak, but how much of it is true, even I don't know.
Geez, this is long-winded. If you've actually read all of this, you're a butthead. Do you really want my misery rubbing off on you?! I think I'll end it here. The rain sounds nice.
Words, hmm?
How do you tell someone you're afraid?
How do you tell someone you're afraid?
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